


A Little Less Conversation

by threewalls



Series: Schirra [73]
Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: 713 OV, Archades, Community: ij porn_battle, Consent Negotiation, First Time, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Game(s), Sado-Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-16
Updated: 2008-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>I can see where someone like you might have gained the mistaken impression that fucking is all about blunt force trauma, but you might be surprised what a little skill can accomplish.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Vossler/Balthier, we could do this without fighting

"Fran enjoys being fucked. Basch enjoys being fucked. We went with the curious idea of everyone doing what they liked, and I don't like being fucked."

Balthier is sitting on the open window-sill, one leg bent to support the arm holding his beer-bottle, the other swinging, ankle and toe tapping against the siding just out of time with the cadence of his speech.

"But--"

"Is your stunned scepticism a comment on how well you've imbibed Archadian stereotypes about the place of younger men in these sorts of liaisons, or because Basch happens to be particularly well-endowed and you can't imagine anyone electing to abstain?"

All of Balthier's questions are rhetorical. Vossler repeats this like a mantra. Basch will kill him if this goes the way it did last time: Vossler caught with his pants around his ankles, Balthier with a bloody nose pressed into bricks, semen streaking down his thighs.

"I can see where someone like you might have gained the mistaken impression that fucking is all about blunt force trauma, but you might be surprised what a little skill can accomplish." Balthier grins like an ass. "No, that would be being modest. What a lot of skill--"

"Ok, fine. Prove it."

Vossler's bottle clinks on the floor beside him. He shucks his jacket as he stands, and then his shirt. His hand's on his belt, but Balthier's hand captures it flat over the buckle. Balthier's thumb strokes along the dark trail of hair leading up from underneath Vossler's waistband. Vossler can see the taut line of Balthier's cock angled to the right of his fly. One bottle shouldn't be enough for thoughts like this.

Vossler looks up before Balthier does, catches the pink of the man's tongue against his lip. He'd forgotten that Balthier was taller. Vossler doesn't know what he wants: Balthier on his knees or someone behind him. Had Basch never had the pirate? Had Balthier ever seen Basch's cock? Vossler's was smaller than Basch's, but he was bigger than the pirate.

"You're going to need a lot of skill to make up for the size of that."

"Oh, am I?"

Balthier lingers over Vossler's belt, like he'll make a show of stripping Vossler's trousers. Wasted effort, Vossler's already hard. He doesn't need that pointed out. Vossler pulls away, shoves down his pants and drawers and kicks them off with his sandals.

"Eager, aren't we? Go turn down the bed."

Balthier's clothes look complicated. Vossler doesn't offer to help; Balthier doesn't ask him to. The bed's simple enough for Balfonheim, the curtains only thin, white netting. Vossler strips the quilt and top sheet to the foot of the bed, and rifles unsuccessfully through the one bedside table.

"Do you have any slick?"

"Offering to do it yourself?"

"Fuck you."

"Not on the cards, I'm afraid." Balthier throws his unbuckled belts, panniers and all, at Vossler on the bed. "Green vial, right side."

Balthier doesn't make him lie flat, but lies behind him on their sides, hot skin to bare skin, his cock feeling larger than it is where it presses teasingly light against Vossler's arse. Balthier's fingertips stroke down Vossler's side, counting ribs, counting scars, and then counting nothing, the strokes, maybe. His fingers on Vossler's hole are the same, stroking and stroking and stroking, and then, one finger, one knuckle.

Balthier sighs against Vossler's neck. "I would have thought a size queen of your advanced years would have already figured out how beneficial relaxation is to the object of your desires."

"What?"

Balthier's hand forces Vossler's fists open to flat palms, before dipping down to stroke his cock. It's his left hand, friction more strange than blissful, but Vossler groans before he can stop himself. The finger in his arse slips deeper.

"That's it. Deep breaths, calm thoughts. I don't like taking people against their will, either, if you were curious."

"I thought you wanted to fuck me."

"Do you want me to?"

"I asked for it."

"Do you?"

Vossler says nothing. Balthier exhales behind him, fingers aimlessly stroking Vossler's inner thigh and--

Pinches. Vossler stifles any sound from his throat, but he can feel his cock twitch, his arse muscles jump around Balthier's finger.

"Now _that_ makes so much sense."

Balthier's pinching fingers find him everywhere, nipples and sides, and his legs enough to make Vossler kick to stay silent. He rolls Vossler face-first into the mattress to pinch his rear, both cheeks and the backs of his thighs, and Vossler's legs spread and he's pushing back against two, three, very long fingers, all his self-control needed to keep the sounds down his throat. Balthier stretches out over him, the heat from his skin, his knees between Vossler's thighs. Vossler tenses when he feels the blunt head of Balthier's cock, but Balthier bites down over the rise of Vossler's shoulder, and slides in easy and quick.

There were those men in Bhujerba, and then Basch, and only Basch for all these years-- something about Basch that made him want to say yes to this, even the times he said no. Why did he say no? But, Balthier's weight doesn't feel like Basch, and his skin is smooth, and he never shuts up. Balthier shifts their hips with every stroke, every stroke a different path, a different pressure, never burning the way Basch sometimes can (that at least is saved for Basch, Vossler thinks, collar pressing into his throat).

One stroke is different, goes past what he knows, not fire, but lightning, and Vossler cries out as he arches, legs kicking. Balthier holds him down.

"That's your prostate again. Oh, I bet Basch stretches you, but you have to admit there's something to be said for the dexterity and precision I can achieve with--"

"Shut up-- ngh-- Fuck me."

"You want this," Balthier says, and Vossler must be far gone, because he can't hear the smirk in Balthier's voice, only the rough purr of arousal. "You want me fucking you. It's good and you want it. Say it."

The sentences make sense in Vossler's head, but they don't come out of his mouth. "Want you," he tries, and that's enough for Balthier, who talks enough for two.

"You like it and you want this. You're going to come before I do, and you're going to come without my hand on your dick. You're going to come just rubbing on the sheets and with my cock in your arse, it feels so good."

Vossler bites the pillow. Even if he can admit Balthier might be right-- can feel his balls tightening and knows Balthier will be right-- he's not going to say so.


End file.
